


Paradox

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warnings: Fluff, meddling!Dumbledore, Post-War, slightly AU from DH in a few obvious , alcohol consumption.<br/>Summary: Sometimes, all it does really take is an interest shared to break down barriers of old. Severus only wishes that they might have been broken more gracefully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paradox

** Paradox **

“Severus, please. I am an old, dead man. Do humour me, won't you?”  
“You are a portrait.” Severus scowled. “Not a real man and as such you hold no power over me whatsoever.”  
“And yet here you are, scowling at me,” Dumbledore said, so fondly that it made Severus' guts churn. “We both know you wouldn't be here if you didn't care, Severus… If you didn't want to make me happy.”  
“What about making _myself_ happy?”  
“Oh, we both know that you will never allow yourself to be that, Severus, so let's not muddy the waters with old blood, shall we?”

“Why me?” Severus asked darkly, reaching up with his hand to rub nervously at his lips. “You know I won't be welcome or happy here; I hear Lupin is going down a storm with them all, which means they'll instantly hate me.”

“Well, perhaps if you didn't try to spend all your time terrifying them, they wouldn't find it so funny when a boggart forces you to delve into the world of being a transsexual.”

Severus opened his mouth to throw a biting retort at Albus Dumbledore's smirking portrait, but settled for a steadying breath instead. It wasn't worth swapping insults with a man who had always won arguments with him. He'd long resigned himself to never winning. Why should death have been any barrier to his old boss' supremacy?

“It's just a couple of weeks,” Dumbledore said, his tone having soothed into a placating lilt.  
“What on earth possessed you to employ a young engaged witch?” Severus asked, unable to hold his question in. “Surely you should have guessed that at some point she would get married and need time off?”  
“You know I have never insisted that my staff have lives which fit neatly into school terms. When you first started teaching here you had so much leeway that Minerva wanted me to sack you.”

“Minerva was chomping at that bit the second I crossed the castle threshold,” Severus dismissed. “So when is this witch back?”  
“She'll be back and raring to go for the new term in January. You will be safe and locked up in your old hermit house by your birthday, I promise.”

“Two weeks?” Severus clarified.  
“And Christmas, if you want -I don't want you to sit alone in your house brooding about how lonely you are.”  
“I am _not_ lonely,” Severus snapped. “And I can have my old rooms?”  
“We discontinued the use of your dungeons. They were... inhabitable.”  
“They were fine!” he cried.

Albus was smirking at him again. Severus swallowed and willed his blood pressure to stay under his control.

“You can have the old Headmaster's suite on the fourth floor. Beautiful view. Very comfortable rooms.”  
“And do I have the liberty to leave the school whenever I please? Can I drink on a school night, Albus? May I abstain from dinner if I wish?”

He threw in all the criticisms Albus had made of him in the past that he could remember, but knew there were plenty he had left out. He waited with an expressionless face to hear the verdict.

“All that and a hefty sum of galleons, but you can sort that out with Minerva.”  
“Why isn't Minerva talking to me _now_?” Severus asked. “Surely, as Headmistress, she should be the one doing the bargaining?”  
“She asked me to... I was, ah... always better at 'handling' you, I think is how she put it.”  
“Charming.”  
“Severus.” Dumbledore suddenly sighed, the weary sigh of an old man who wanted to sleep. “Will you please do this for me? I wouldn't ask, but I very much need your help what with the NEWT students needing guidance for their projects and Slytherin house as a whole needing corralling before the last game of the term. Can't you find a little Yule cheer in that blackened, deadened heart of yours and do me a favour?”  
“Because I haven't done enough of those,” Severus muttered.  
“Speak up,” Albus advised.

Severus groaned and tipped his face forward into his hand. He had very much been looking forward to his fourth Christmas where he would not be at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Fate, it seemed, had other ideas.

“Fine,” he said, begrudgingly.

* * *

“I heard he'd died!”  
“No, he _nearly_ died, Felicity. Keep up. Can I borrow your pink and silver bow for my hair tonight? I'm meeting Mike round the back of greenhouse four and I want to look classy.”  
“Oh, yeah, really classy, the back of greenhouse four.” Felicity sniggered, and then she stopped dead when she saw her professor glaring at her.

Glaring as he had been for the past five minutes, whilst listening to the two third-year students whispering about him and their petty little dramas. He had been teaching for just three hours and he had learned something startling: he seemed to have completely lost his touch. His voice, it appeared, was no longer enough to command the pupils in front of him. They stared back with almost a mocking glee -glee that he was only their stand-in teacher, and he would never have the power over them that their usual teacher did.

In short, it felt like it was 1982 again and he was freshly shaped and new, ready to be hardened by Hogwarts and its brood. Four years out of teaching had sent him straight back to square one, and he felt like a fool.

“Might I suggest that when arranging to meet behind the greenhouses,” he interrupted, raising his voice so that the entire class could hear. “You choose not to do it in front of someone who can put you in detention and thus spoil your night of what, I am sure, was to be a thrilling romance with -what was his name? Mike?”

Severus enjoyed with sadistic pleasure the way Mike's cheeks turned a rosy hue to match his admirer's.

“Detention, both you, tonight. I will schedule it with Mr Filch and you can report to him.”  
“But Sir!” Both girls whined together, a high pitched screech of everything Severus loathed about teenage girls.  
“But nothing. Now might I suggest that you continue with your brewing, before tomorrow night's excursions are also curbed by your presence in the dungeons, disembowelling something.”

Both of them glared at him but began half-heartedly stirring their cauldrons. Content that perhaps maybe he still had it after all, Severus leant back in his chair and fingered the text in front of him.

* * *

“Severus, good to see you,” Remus said cordially, and much to Severus' dislike, he pulled out the chair next to him at the staff table and sat down in it. “None of us really believed that Albus would have the cheek to ask you to fill in.”  
“Well, wonders never cease.” Severus knew his tone was dry and didn't bother to change it when he spoke again. “I see you are as cheerful as ever, Lupin.”  
“What's the point of being anything else?” Remus asked, pulling a tureen of potatoes towards him. “It's nearly Christmas, my favourite time of year. I have a job. Life is... well, good.”

Severus instantly hated his optimism, but then he always had. Remus Lupin in his memory was an overtly cheerful soul who seemed to enjoy being happy to annoy other people, when he had every right to be miserable, with the painful curse and the socially crippling stigma attached to it.

“I'm pleased for you, but would you pass the salt instead of waxing lyrical about life and its joys?” Severus asked.  
“I'm glad to see the war didn't change you,” Remus remarked, before handing over the salt pot with a coy smile on his lips.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well... you're still as sharp as ever. I heard your health went downhill after the war...”  
“As one might expect when one has had one's throat ripped out by a venomous snake.” Severus stabbed moodily at a sausage and lifted it, preparing to eat.  
“Some people might have viewed it as a second chance and changed their ways,” Remus offered. “But I'm glad to see that you are still stubborn, if anything.”

Stinging from the low blow, Severus fumed inwardly and wondered how to reply. He was saved the energy, however, when Remus pushed his plate away and sighed.

“Excuse me, Severus.”

He got up and carefully exited the stage. Severus watched him leave the Great Hall, noticing the stiff way his legs carried him and how his arms were clenched by his side.

“Poor Remus,” someone sighed to his left.

Severus looked and nearly groaned aloud. He had never been close to Pomona Sprout in his time at Hogwarts, and he hadn't really felt any disappointment when she had turned on him, considering him a traitor and a murderer. What he didn't need that evening any more than he had needed it as a permanent member of staff was her constant worrying about other members of the faculty. Especially not Remus Lupin.

“Why?” he asked finally.  
“The full moon has just been, and it was a bad one. He's only just back on his feet. I dare say he couldn't stomach the food. Poor man. Just like when he was at school here... well, when you both were at school here. You still seem so young to me.”

Catching sight of the reminiscent glint in her eye, Severus found himself wanting to bolt.

“You were always such a quiet little thing,” she mused. “Until someone questioned you or picked on you... and then you turned into this unstoppable ball of fire. I always thought you were in the wrong house. Too fiery and quick-tempered for Slytherin.”  
“Really, is that so?” Severus said airily, putting down his fork and preparing to make a quick exit.  
“And then there was Remus, so happy to be here and eager to make friends... dear me, I don't think anything has really changed at all, has it? Except now you're both fully grown men.”  
“Apparently.”  
“I really think that you could be friends, if you tried,” she said.  
“Not likely.”

Severus strode from the Great Hall wondering if he had gone completely insane to ever have accepted the offer of Albus Dumbledore, whose meddlings in his life had never fared well for him,

***

If there was one thing he could grow to like, it was the new addition of a few free-for-all decanters of alcohol in the staff room. Severus was reclining in one of the largest, most comfortable wing-backed armchairs by the fire, nursing a large tumbler of whisky. Of course, he could have gone up to his rooms, but that would have meant drinking his own whisky, and that in the staff room was free. He was no fool. He smiled to himself as he took a sip.

The hour was late and he had sat, undisturbed, for a whole hour as he read through the day's use-softened paper and completed the crossword which had felled another member of staff. He was on his second glass of gratuitously free whisky and was surprised at how content he felt. Tiredness was creeping in and his neck was stiff, as it often got the later the hour reached, and he knew he should head up to bed if he wanted to be awake for his fifth years the next morning.

“I didn't expect you to be in here.”

Severus jumped as Remus' voice cut through the soft ambience of the empty staff room. He looked over his shoulder and hurt his neck. He winced and reached up to rub at it.

“I thought everyone would be asleep.”  
“I was,” Remus said. He walked to an armchair opposite Severus' and eased himself into it. “But then I woke up and I hurt so much that I just had to walk.”

Severus wanted to say something snide, but there was too much pain etched in the other wizard's features for him to manage it.

“Age doesn't help, does it?” he said finally, neither positively nor negatively.  
“God I wish I was thirteen again.” Remus laughed, rather breathlessly. “I thought it hurt _then._ I'd give anything to go back to that age and be so lucky.”

Remaining quiet, Severus sipped at his whisky.

“Ah, I see you've discovered the free stash.” Remus smiled at him. “Each month the whisky changes to a different malt, mostly from Scotland, but each one so far has been brilliant.”  
“I very much like this one,” Severus confessed, lifting up his glass to survey the pale golden liquid. “Distinctive taste.”  
“You sound like a connoisseur,” Remus commented.  
“I don't think a dependency on alcohol makes me that.” Severus made a face, knowing that he had possibly had too much to drink.

Since his duel with Nagini his tolerance levels had taken a turn for the worse. He knew when he stood he would be light-headed.

“Well then... I suppose I just have a dependency on alcohol too,” Remus said, his voice soft.

With a smile on his face, the man stood. Severus watched one of his knees buckle under his weight.

“I'll leave you to your drink. Good night, Severus.”  
“Good night, Lupin.” He couldn't quite bring himself to say 'Remus' as genially as Remus used 'Severus'. There were some boundaries he thought might never be breached, and was pleased to think that they would remain virgin.

* * *

“What's all the fuss?” Severus asked, stopping to pick up the day's paper from the low coffee table at the start of the seating area.  
“New whisky,” Professor Vector said excitedly. “Rumour has it that it'll change every day, from now in the run up to Christmas. It could just be lies but goodness, I hope not.”

She hurried away and Severus stared after her, wondering how people could cope when their lives were so dull that changing whisky could prove an excitement. Then he swallowed and realised he knew very well how they could cope, because he coped, and his life was drastically dull. New whisky was certainly a cause for celebration.

“Has Lupin seen it?” he asked nobody in particular.  
“Remus has been in bed all day, poor dear.”  
“You should take him some, Severus,” Minerva suggested. Severus hadn't seen her there. “It may cheer him up.”

As a chorus of agreement rose up, Severus regretted his mind's thoughtless question. Someone passed over a tumbler of whisky and it was pressed into his palm.

“I don't think that would be appropriate,” he dismissed, holding it back out for the giver to take it back. “I don't know Lupin well enough to-”  
“Call on him in his rooms which you did every month in the year you both taught here together?” Minerva supplied. “Don't be ridiculous, Severus.”  
“His rooms are on the floor below yours,” Filius supplied unhelpfully.

Severus found most of the staff staring at him expectedly.

“Oh, fine, if you insist.”  
“We do,” Minerva said, her tone curt, and she stared at him until he closed the door behind him and stepped into the corridor.

He allowed himself to mutter beneath his breath until he stepped off the stairs onto the third floor corridor. There he paused, inhaled deeply into his lungs, and broadened his shoulders. He located Lupin's door and knocked on it. There was no immediate answer and so he knocked again. When nothing came in response, he exhaled in relief. Only then did he hear a small grunt from deep within the rooms. His hand tested the door knob before he could instruct it not to. The door swung open without noise. Severus saw the immediate office empty but a door leading further afield standing open.

“In here.” Lupin's voice sounded cracked and broken. Severus headed towards it, closing the office door behind him and being careful not to waste any of the precious whisky as he moved.

He came to a stop in the door frame. He didn't feel it right to wander into another man's bedroom even with such delicious offerings. When he looked, Lupin was prostrate in his bed, the sheets messy around him. His face was ridiculously pale.

“I know I look awful,” Remus announced. “So don't bother to tell me. What are you doing here? And what's that?”  
“Whisky. Rumour has it that the decanters in the staff room will change every day now in the run up to Christmas.”  
“Oh, now that's worth getting out of bed for.”  
“You don't look like you can walk!”  
“Well perhaps the whisky will help?”  
“I think that's what Minerva was hoping,” Severus admitted.  
“Do come in, don't stand on ceremony.”

Awkwardly Severus sidled towards the bed and held the glass out for Remus to take.

“Just leave it there.” The werewolf nodded towards the bedside cabinet. “I'll drink it later. Thank you for thinking of me.”  
“I didn't,” Severus assured him.  
“I'm sure you did and you're just saying that.”

Even looking so ill, Remus managed to flash him a charming smile and Severus hated him just a little bit more.

* * *

Stretching out and allowing the luxurious bed to cushion his bones, Severus stared at the canopy above, surprised that he had made it to his first weekend of teaching. As the days had progressed it had been easier to get back in his teaching stride, to send out sharp barbs and to control his pupils with a glare. It almost seemed, he thought, as he lazily scratched his belly, that he had never been away from it.

He rolled his head to one side and looked at the dull grey sky outside; it was a shock to be surrounded by light. He had nearly put a blackout charm on the windows but had stopped himself at the last moment, wondering if, perhaps, the connection with daylight might well do him good.

He'd be the last to admit it aloud, but he did feel somewhat cheerier.

“Only slightly,” he muttered to himself.

His fingers were resting on his stomach, resting on the soft, dark hair which led down to his groin. With a surreptitious look at his surroundings, Severus slipped his hand further down to fondle his half-interested cock. He closed his eyelids and pressed his hips upward, causing friction, and groaned beneath his breath.

He wrapped his fingers around his shaft and began to rub, concentrating on the touch rather than any filthy thoughts that his mind might drum up. Severus had long since given up imagining faces and sounds when it came to his under-the-duvet solo pursuits. There had been no face and no voice for such a long time that he found he was not bereft about it, although he knew that should he let another into the truth of his most secret solitude they would probably feel pity.

Severus knew it was a good thing that he had always enjoyed his own company.

He was just beginning to enjoy the gentle slide up and down when a loud and abusive thud broke out on his office door, which magnified through the academic room into his living quarters. He immediately thrust his cock away and made to leap out of bed, but his erection was stiff and unyielding and made such movement difficult.

In short, he felt like he was fifteen again and his mother was banging on his bedroom door. Severus hadn't felt such shame in a long, long time. He snatched up his dressing gown and threw it on, walking through his office as he did so; the banging continued. When he finally got the door open, he was out of breath.

“Severus!” Minerva's voice barked out at him. “Dear me, you're all flushed, are you all right?”  
“I'm fine,” he breathed, forcing his throat to swallow in order to try and calm himself. “What can I do for you?”  
“Get dressed, perhaps, and come down to the Quidditch pitch for the last game of the term and keep your house from lynching the Gryffindor team when they win?”  
“Whatever happened to impartiality?!” Severus called after her, as she turned on her heel and set back off down the corridor.

Severus closed the door, mentally berating himself. He would never hear the end of being late for the first time in _years._

***

“I heard you were late to the game this morning?” Remus smirked.  
“Who told you that?” Severus asked, keeping his eyes on his paper.  
“Oh, just a little birdy.” Remus eased down into the armchair opposite him and sent him another smile.  
“Well, at least I went to the game,” Severus pointed out.

Remus didn't have an answer for him then and Severus turned a page, hoping he had won the argument.

“Well, at least I'm out of bed now and you don't have to provide your nightly whisky service.”

Severus pretended that his mind wasn't even thinking about the subject of the fact that, for the past four nights, with each change in the whisky, Minerva had recommended that he take a small glass up to Remus 'for his health'. The first night he had put the glass down and left immediately. The second night he had remained long enough for the werewolf to sip the drink and proclaim it excellent. The third night he had lingered longer and they had shared a brief conversation on the rivalry between the houses about the upcoming match. The fourth night Remus had been out of bed and in his small sitting area; Severus had sat with him for a whole half an hour and they had discussed many things before Severus had grown uncomfortable and made his excuses to leave.

He had no idea why he had stayed with increasing length with the wizard opposite him. He certainly didn't _like_ him, as Severus suspected that Minerva was starting to believe.

Severus focussed on a picture in the paper and said nothing.

“I was beginning to quite enjoy your visits,” Remus pressed on. Severus sighed and wished the man would give up. “It was nice... having the company.”  
“Well, now you are well again you can spend your time in here to find some company, can't you?” Severus didn't look up.

There was a loud sigh and Severus chanced a glance. Remus was staring at the fire, his face looking ridiculously tired and pale.

“Why do you have to be so difficult?” Remus asked finally, his voice tight.

Severus watched with astonishment as he limped from the room as fast as his stiff joints would allow. He dropped the paper into his lap and simply stared at the closed staffroom door. Then, before he could understand what had come over him, he propelled himself out of his armchair, let the paper fall to his feet and followed at high speed, hoping to catch Remus Lupin before he could attain the moral high ground in disappearing.

Luck was on his side, Severus found, as he saw Remus only just rounding the corner up ahead. He walked quickly without calling out. He nearly slammed straight into the waiting werewolf as he turned into the next corridor.

“Merlin's arse, Lupin, don't do that to a man!” he wheezed, rubbing at his chest in shock.  
“You were following me,” Remus said.  
“I might have been.”  
“Why?”  
“Because I don't see why you should get to flounce out of the staffroom like you're a teenager.”  
“Flounce?” Remus laughed.  
“You know you did.”  
“I don't think I flounced,” Remus insisted.

He laughed then and leant back against the wall. Severus found his eyes trailing down the long-enough length of his body and back up again.

“What did you want to say to me?” Remus asked.  
“I...” Severus trailed off. He didn't know why himself, so explaining it wasn't going to be graceful. “I don't see why I'm difficult,” he muttered finally. “Just because I preferred to sit in peace and quiet than natter on like some people I could mention.”  
“That wasn't why I called you difficult.” Remus made a face.  
“Then do explain yourself, Lupin, I'm on tenterhooks here." He hoped his sarcasm did not go amiss.  
“Because you chose to ignore the fact that I was implying that I enjoyed your company.”  
“Why on earth would you do that?”  
“What?”  
“Enjoy my company!” Severus burst out irritably.  
“Oh, so you do acknowledge it then.” Remus smirked.  
“Oh, go and sod yourself, Lupin, I don't need this rubbish. If you can't talk plainly then don't talk at all.”  
“Says he, the king of sarcasm and dry wit.”  
“I'll take that as a compliment,” Severus decided aloud. He turned on his heel. “Good night, Lupin. Don't miss me too much, will you?”

He made it two steps before his wrist was seized and his arm dragged out behind him; the twist was painful and he turned on his heel, clattering into the other man's chest. As frail as he looked, Severus expected the knock to send Remus Lupin flying, but he remained surprisingly solid. Their noses ended up only millimetres apart. He could feel hot breath over his lips. He shivered.

“What is this?” he muttered, his eyelids drooping. They felt so heavy that he didn't think he could keep them open if he tried; he had only experienced the drowsy sense of longing soothing through his veins a few times before.

His answer was a kiss and it caused his throat to burn with unexpected emotion; the whole thing was far too unexpected for him. Severus jerked back, his face aflame with embarrassment. He wished he knew how to react, what to say and do. Remus' brown eyes assessed him.

“What was that?” Severus whispered.

Remus shrugged.

“That's all you've got to say for yourself?”  
“What do you want me to say?”

Severus stared at him and Remus stared back; they quickly locked into a staring fight and Severus knew if anybody walked around the corner it would be mortifying.

“Good night,” he said finally.  
“Severus-”  
“NIGHT,” he said forcefully, and walked away, his mind swimming.

* * *

Severus revelled in the Slytherin win over Gryffindor in the last game of the term until at least Tuesday evening. By Wednesday morning the glow had faded and he was running out of snippy taunts for Minerva. He had spent the passing days since Saturday in a daze.

Most of the time had also been spent telling himself that Remus Lupin kissing him meant absolutely nothing and he, Severus Snape, had most certainly _not_ enjoyed it. At all.

Not one tiny little bit.

Not even a smidgen.

There wasn't even a good explanation for why he felt so awkward around the werewolf when they were forced to be in the same room together. Lupin was being completely unreasonable, Severus thought, by quietening and averting his eyes whenever he entered a room. They hadn't shared a word since a polite request to pass the salt at the staff table at Sunday lunch.

Severus liked it that way, he'd decided. It was silent and pleasant and there was no intolerable banter.

“Severus!”

Sighing and wondering if he had spoken too soon, Severus glanced over his shoulder. He had been heading back to his quarters for a relaxing, triumphant bath after an afternoon of hard intimidation with the first years. Minerva swept towards him.

“Albus would like a word with you. He says it’s urgent.”  
“What could be urgent?” he frowned. “He's a portrait.”  
“Don't ask me, Severus dear, just go, please. He'll badger me all night long if you don't. Even worse he'll come and jump into a portrait in your rooms.”  
“I'll be there, “ Severus said immediately.

Only after he passed her did he realise that she had called him 'dear'.

Everyone within the boundaries of Hogwarts had gone completely mad since the war, he decided, as he made his way to the Headmistress's office.

***

That opinion did not change as he stared at Albus Dumbledore's portrait with growing anger.

“Apparently, it was one hell of a kiss. Severus, you old tart! Kissing in the corridor! Who would have thought it?”  
“It's a lie,” he ground out, furious.

How could they have been so stupid as to have forgotten the portraits lining the walls of the school? They had been there for all of their lives, they had grown up with them, they had taught around them -and now, apparently, they had spied on him being kissed by a werewolf, and all of the other portraits knew about it.

It wouldn't have been so bad, Severus surmised, if he'd not sent Albus hurtling from the Astronomy Tower.

“I just want to say how very glad I am that you have finally embraced this side of your sexuality.”  
“What side of it?” Severus asked wildly. “I was attacked and caught off my guard. I didn't reciprocate.”  
“So you did kiss?” Albus smirked. “And that's not what I heard. I heard there might even have been... tongue.” The last word was whispered.  
“Albus!” Severus cried, leaping to his feet. “I'm not sitting here and listening to this. It was nothing, and it's none of your business, understood?”  
“So defensive, young Severus. Look at you, feeling those emotions for another at last. I am so incredibly proud of you.”

Severus didn't answer as he strode to the door and threw himself through it, blood pounding with anger in his ears. He didn't know what was driving him as he stamped down the revolving staircase and out into the corridor below, but he knew where he was going. He was going to give Lupin a piece of his mind and tell him what a fucking idiot he thought he was for kissing him in front of the portraits. It was, naturally, all Lupin's fault. Severus certainly wasn't going to take the blame.

He composed his rant as he marched, his boots clacking harshly on the wooden flooring. He was so angry he might even throw something –if it broke, then he would consider that a bonus. He nodded to himself encouragingly.

“All those bloody years of celibacy and I get kissed by a werewolf and caught out at the same time. Unbelievable.”

He thudded his fist on Lupin's door and glared at it. He banged again when there was no answer in ten seconds.

“Lupin, open up, I've got something to say!”

The door was wrenched open and Severus opened his mouth, the first word on the tip of his tongue, and then he caught sight of Remus' face as he opened the door. It was red and blotchy; his eyes were bloodshot and pink-rimmed. His lips, in total contrast, were pale.

“Severus, I'm not in the mood, can't you take your ire somewhere else for tonight?”  
“I...” Severus was caught off guard, his rant completely gone from his mind.  
“I imagine you've spoken to Albus?” Remus sniffled.  
“Well, yes... have you...?”  
“Why do you think I look like this?”

Remus sniffed again and stepped back, waving Severus into his rooms. Unsure, Severus stepped inside and closed the door behind him, but he kept his hand on the door knob. He saw the crystal decanter of whisky from the staff room sitting, half-empty, on Remus' coffee table. The glass next to it had only a dribble left in the bottom.

“You can have it,” Remus said thickly. “Wasn't a good idea for me to take it anyway. It won't react well with my potions. I'll regret it in the morning.”  
“Is today's good? I didn't taste it earlier...”  
“It's superb. Have some.”  
“No, I don't want to disturb you.”  
“You already have, Severus. You looked like you were about to give me the biggest mouthful since Sirius chopped your hair off when we were fourteen.”

Severus winced at the memory of Sirius Black managing to hack the best part of his long hair off during a boring History of Magic lesson. He'd looked terrible when he finally got to a mirror, the jeers of his fellow students ringing in his ears.

“Sorry, I don't suppose you need reminding of that,” Remus muttered.

Severus watched as the man eased himself down on his sofa with a groan. He seemed to be in immense pain.

“Please, sit down. You're making me nervous, Severus.”

For some reason, Severus found hi0mself eager to please him. He crossed the short space between them and sat down at the other end of the settee. Remus summoned another glass which soared towards them and landed next to the whisky decanter. It poured them both a measure and then floated over to them in mid-air. Severus caught his with over-careful fingers and wasted no time in putting the glass to his lip and sipping,

“Oban,” he muttered. “One of my favourites.”  
“You know it?”

Severus nodded and took a larger sip. Remus drank from his glass.

“I don't know why I kissed you,” Remus said suddenly, blowing the pink elephant in the room to smithereens. “But I'm sorry that we were caught out. It was probably as fun for you to sit there in front of Albus as it was for me.”  
“He still knows how to get under my skin.”  
“He wouldn't have got you back here if he didn't, Severus. None of us expected that he'd be able to bring you back and then there you were...”  
“Back to ruin everyone's day.”

Remus shook his head and sipped at his whisky. Silence descended between them, but it was not awkward, Severus found. In fact, it was rather pleasant. He slowly worked his way through the golden liquid in his tumbler and enjoyed it. He stretched his legs out a bit and worked his backside into the comfortable couch. When Remus' hand reached out and touched his thigh he nearly swore with regret, because that would mean things were about to get difficult, and he wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet some more.

“What are you doing?” he asked.  
“I don't know,” Remus confessed. “Severus...”  
“Are you going to kiss me again?”

Severus cursed his mouth and wondered if the whisky was spiked. Or double strength. Or both.

“You'd only have to ask,” Remus said, sounding bitter. “I'm sorry, Severus. It's just that... the closer it gets to Christmas, the more I think about what's gone... what's never coming back.”

There was no need for questions. Severus knew who he was talking about.

“Don't you find that?” Remus asked, turning to him, his eyes open and honest. “That this time of year hurts more than any other month?”

Severus thought about his answer. “I suppose I've just... stopped feeling.”  
“That's sad.”  
“Perhaps.”

They sat in silence until Remus spoke again.

“It didn't look like you had lost your capability to feel on Saturday night in the corridor.”  
“Well, kiss a man like that, Lupin, he'd have to be dead not to react.”  
“Are you saying I'm a good kisser?”  
“Are you... flirting with me?” Severus asked in disbelief.

Remus merely laughed in response and sipped at his whisky. Severus shifted his leg, which the other man's hand still rested upon.

“Will you be staying in the castle over the holidays?” Remus asked, changing the subject.  
“I'm not sure...” Severus stared at the coffee table. “I have nowhere better to be, but at the same time I don't want to give Albus the satisfaction of admitting that.”  
“Better to give an old man some pleasure than be alone, surely?”

Severus didn't answer.

“I think you should stay,” Remus pressed on. “I'll be here.”  
“Is that meant to be an incentive?” Severus laughed.  
“Well I was hoping it might be.”  
“And what would you say if I said yes, hmm?” Severus questioned, lifting his eyebrows.  
“I'd kiss you again.” Remus shrugged carelessly and looked down at his lap.

Remus smelt of soft, herby cologne as he leant forward. Severus felt like bolting, but he was stuck in place. He gripped his glass to have something to hold onto. When they were almost nose-to-nose he lifted his eyes and really looked at Remus.

“I'm so tired,” the werewolf breathed. Severus froze as Remus' head fell forward and his forehead came to a stop against Severus' cheek.  
“Then maybe you should go to bed?” he suggested softly.  
“Mm.” Remus' moan was soft and far too telling. “That would involve moving.”

If he was going to move, Severus knew he had to do it quickly. But there was no spark, no inclination to stand up with Remus so close and so very, very warm.

“Then just sleep here,” he whispered.

He took the full weight of Remus against him and held his breath.

* * *

“What's the matter with him?” Severus heard someone whisper.

What was the matter with him was that he had just taken a full gulp of Laphroaig whisky, and his gullet was being scorched through.

“Whisky's strong,” someone replied drolly.

Severus wanted to murder them. The coughing simply would not stop. He had tasted some strong whisky in his time, but Laphroaig only once and that had been more than enough. As he coughed he cursed his stupidity in not smelling the drink first –he would have known it instantly and given it away.

“Is Severus dying?” A concerned voice asked and Severus lurched upright, looking straight into the warm eyes of Remus Lupin.

His throat burned all the more and Severus moved, hoping to make it to the door.

“Here, water,” Remus said, suddenly waving a glass at him. Severus snatched it and chugged it down.

It did little to soothe his throat, but it was enough to take the edge off the worst of the burning. There was no denying that fact that his face was damp, coated in the tears which had streamed from his eyes as he'd coughed uncontrollably.

“Better?” Remus asked, his concern deepening. “Perhaps you should sit down?”  
“I'm fine,” Severus dismissed, his voice hoarse. “I'll be off to my rooms now.”  
“I think I should accompany you, just to make sure you make it there alive...”

Severus could find no energy to protest further as he left the staff room and heard the steady shuffle of Lupin's limp behind him. Not until they were several corridors away did he slow and look over his shoulder.

“What do you want?” he asked, swallowing deep and hard in his throat to try and ease away some more of the burning.  
“To check that you're okay.”  
“I'm fine... just don't drink the whisky,” Severus warned.  
“Duly noted.”

Severus gave him a curt nod and made to walk away. Once again, his wrist was grasped in Remus' warm hand.

“Do you often grab men's hands in the corridors? Should I be keeping an eye on you with the seventh year boys?”  
“Severus, please,” Remus huffed. “You were gone when I woke up yesterday.”  
“I didn't think you were quite ready for the sight of me so early in the morning in your delicate state.”  
“Or you were scared of what I would say when I woke up and found you were still there?”

Severus looked away; Remus' laugh was soft and floated along the corridor.

“I don't know why you're so stubborn,” he said finally. “Why you can't admit that whatever is evolving between us is good... that it's pleasurable... that it feels good.”  
“ _Does_ it feel good?” Severus asked.  
“Why do you always have to force me to say things first?!”

It was hard to fight down the smile which rose at Remus' petulance, Severus found.

“Yes!” Remus said irritably. “I like it. I like kissing you. I like being in your company. And I liked using you as a pillow the other night. I'd like to have that sort of comfort in a bed next time, if you'll let me.”  
“The portraits,” Severus muttered, casting a quick glance around at the lined walls.

Remus followed his gaze and sighed. Then he used his grasp on Severus' arm to gently tug him into an alcove, which was covered by a thick tapestry.

“I think I've been here before,” the Gryffindor murmured, looking interestedly at the brickwork. “I can't remember who with, though.”  
“My, my, what a slut you were, Lupin,” Severus drawled.

Remus smiled, not rising to the bait, and shook his head.

“And then there was you, Severus, so straight-laced and private most of us thought you were asexual, though none of us knew what that meant at the time.”

Severus held his breath as roughened fingers came up to gently play in the hair closest to his cheek. He couldn't help but lean into the palm of the attached hand. Remus indulged him, cupping his face with tenderness.

“But you never were, were you?” Remus whispered. “You were so in love you were crippled by it, and you never let it go...”  
“Remus... I don't want to talk about this...” Severus stared at him. “I've moved on. As best I can.”  
“And now are you as asexual as we thought you were?”

The thudding of his heart was testament to just how sexual Severus was. Remus' touch burnt him almost as much as the Laphroaig had.

“No, you're not,” Remus whispered.

When it came, the kiss was soft, and sweet, and far too innocent. By means of deepening it, he opened his mouth and ventured his tongue forth to play. He made a noise of annoyance when Remus pulled back and surveyed him.

“You taste of Laphroaig.”  
“I imagine I'll be tasting of it for a good few weeks.”  
“Good thing I like it, then,” Remus grinned.  
“What is this, Remus?”  
“Whatever you want it to be. Days. Weeks. Months. I'll leave it up to you. But don't hold it against me when I hurt when it's time to let you go your own way,” Remus said, his tone firm. “Understood?”  
“Understood.”

Severus' heart was in his throat. He seemed to be standing on the brink of change, and positive change --for a change. That he should take the chance with someone from his past seemed too much of a paradox, even for his messy, hard life.

“If you need time...” Remus said, uncertainly.  
“No.” Severus shook his head. “No time needed. It's fine. Come by my rooms this evening, at ten?”  
“So long?” Remus mumbled, nosing at his jawline.  
“Ten?” Severus reiterated.  
“I'll bring the whiskey. Not the one from the staff room though.”

Severus snorted. “No. Not if you want me in any form of consciousness.”  
“You're lucky I'm honourable... what if I didn't?”  
“You're odd, Lupin.”  
“Remus.”  
“Remus,” Severus confirmed, with a small smile.

_-fin-_   



End file.
